


Out of The Shire

by moth2fic



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 20:49:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moth2fic/pseuds/moth2fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening adventure seems likely to lead to disaster but in fact results in a revelation of feelings. Men can be cruel, hobbits can be brave, and endings can be unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out of The Shire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for rubyelf's story swap challenge (on LJ), using image B ( hobbits at a bar) and prompt 3 (an evening activity that will be regretted in the morning). Longer and more serious than initially intended; the hobbits would not let me write crack!fic. I wrote and posted this quickly, without a beta, so let me know if you spot any typos though my spellchecker thinks it caught them all.

They rode out of The Shire to Bree, the cares of their small corner of the world dropping from their shoulders as they left Hobbiton far behind. Merry was whistling, almost tunefully, and Pippin dug his heels into his pony’s sides, setting it off into a fast canter, not because there was any hurry, but just for joy. 

“Sometimes,” said Merry, encouraging his own pony to catch up, “I think I can’t stand it any longer. Being Master Meriadoc and having to react so politely to all the forelock-tugging and smarmy speeches, I mean.”

“Being Peregrine Took isn’t much better, you know,” muttered his companion. “I’m expected to conform in all sorts of ways. I thought our adventures would free us from all the constraints of hobbit society, but no, we’re the apples of all eyes and we’re supposed to be perfect apples, round, green and red, and sweet.”

“Glossy on the outside and perfect within,” agreed Merry. “I need these outings of ours; time to be ourselves, behave badly if we wish...”

“...though of course we don’t!” Pippin pretended to sound shocked.

“But we could...” Merry’s eyes were gleaming.

“...and nobody would say anything at all...” Pippin chuckled softly.

“...because nobody would know.” Merry gave a satisfied sigh and the two cantered on, at one with each other and at peace. 

Their return from foreign parts as heroes of some sort or another had put them firmly in the spotlight and of course Frodo hadn’t helped, living as he did, almost a recluse from society. Sam, too, had effaced himself into his garden and his family, leaving Merry and Pippin to bear the brunt of living up to hobbit expectations. They were watched, to see if they would perform any more heroic deeds, observed, to see if they matched heroic legends, and spied upon, to find out whether heroes ever had feet of clay rather than proper hobbit feet with hairy toes and heels. It was almost unbearable.

It would have been completely unbearable if it hadn’t been for the trips outside The Shire. It was Frodo who had suggested they should venture out into the wider world from time to time.

“Just because Sam and I don’t travel any longer is no reason for you two to embrace seclusion,” he told them when they were complaining one afternoon over tea and cakes at Bag End. “You know your way about the countryside around here, and even as far as Rivendell. The lands are safe, now, or at least not dangerous to a pair of armed and experienced hobbits. Take yourselves off on adventures from time to time and get away from prying eyes.” 

Rivendell was perhaps too far; a visit would necessitate camping on the way and that would mean packing all sorts of things on their ponies that would draw too much interest from their families and neighbours. But the inn at Bree could be reached for an evening’s entertainment if they set out in good time, and if they drank too much or too late, well, Butterbur had accommodation suited to small folk and they would spend the night in comfort. 

“I wonder why there are hobbit rooms at The Prancing Pony,” said Merry. “It isn’t as if many hobbits travel outside The Shire.”

“Nowadays, no,” said Pippin, “but my father recalls his father telling him of the time his grandfather set out with a pedlar’s pack and spent a year away. He came back with enough riches to build Took Hall. I think perhaps travel was more widespread than it is now and perhaps the inn was built with pedlars and the like in mind.”

“I don’t think the Brandybucks have ever travelled. Until me, that is,” said Merry. “They look at me as if they expect me to grow an extra head any moment, you know.”

They rode on, contemplating hobbit history and deciding that Frodo would know, because he was fond of that sort of thing, and that they could ask him (over tea and cakes, of course) later in the week.

~~~~~

The inn was crowded, mostly with big folk, and there was a great deal of noise, including a lot of laughter. The beer smelled delicious. The landlord recognised them at once - this wasn’t their first ‘adventure’ - and promised to prepare a room, just in case. He was laughing as he promised, and they knew it was because every time they ended up staying overnight. And yet they never meant to. Somehow, a combination of freedom and strong drink always ended up tossing them into bed rather than onto their ponies at the end of the evening. 

“Which,” said Merry, “isn’t a bad thing, exactly, because it means we ride home in daylight, which is much pleasanter than trying to find our way in the dark.”

“There’s only the one road,” Pippin reminded him, but Merry in turn mentioned their first outing when they had strayed from the road and arrived home muddy and tired, having ridden the poor ponies through a swamp. Since that occasion, they had tended to rely on the rooms at the inn, and even stabled their ponies straight away on arrival, rather than leaving them tied to a rail at the front. 

They dealt with the ponies after announcing their presence to Butterbur, and then went into the main room of the inn, happily anticipating drinks, conversation and good company.

~~~~~

Their first beers of the evening tasted as good as they looked and smelled, foam swirling creamily on top of deep dark liquid from which the scent of hops rose to meet eager hobbit noses. The conversation, however, was less to their taste.

The usual customers, men who lived near the inn, were sitting packed together in a dark corner, looking morose and making almost no conversation at all. Most of the room was filled with a group the hobbits had never seen before, men whose clothing and manners suggested they were not local. They were talking loudly, drinking rapidly, and clearly intimidating the other customers. Merry and Pippin felt a little intimidated too, but thought they could sit quietly enjoying their drinks and that these strangers would soon go on their way. They heard Butterbur tell one of the men not to bring his outlandish customs to Bree but the man laughed and slapped the landlord on the back and pretended it was all a great joke. They also heard one of the regulars mutter something about tree-fellers.

“They must be one of the groups who cut trees for Saruman,” said Merry, quietly. “They’ll be out of work now, and ripe for mischief. I don’t suppose they’ve spent all their pay yet. Saruman dealt with them honestly enough, I believe.”

“Just as he did in The Shire,” said Pippin. “Though how it can be honest to strip a place of its trees is a mystery.”

“Perhaps honest isn’t the word I want. Not deceitful, at any rate.” Merry watched the men and found his beer sour in his throat for a moment. They continued to drink, but without their usual enjoyment. They weren’t eavesdropping, but it was difficult not to hear the ribald remarks and tall tales the group were sharing. So they couldn’t help listening to the next part of the tree-fellers’ talk.

“I was told,” began a man with a shock of black hair and arms like tree branches, “that a halfling sorted that Sauron out in the end. Can you believe it? I ask you. Halflings. Half the size of a man and less than half the use if you ask me.”

“Nasty little things,” said another. “Near enough to animals, with furry feet and no brains.” Butterbur glanced anxiously at the hobbits but said nothing to stop the talk.

“I heard,” said one of the companions, slurring his words slightly, “ that the halfling tried to throw Sauron’s ring in the volcano. Couldn’t get it off his finger, see. Turns out he bit his own finger off in rage, and threw that into the depths instead.” 

A roar of laughter greeted this information and then someone asked, “So did he manage to get the ring thrown in too? Must have done, to defeat the dark lord. Stupid, isn’t it, that we owe our safety to a hairy-footed imbecile?”

“The black-haired man thumped the table and when he had everyone’s attention spoke again. “My guess is that there was a man with them who got the ring away from the halfling. The stories just stress the halfling’s part because it’s comical. Everybody likes a good laugh now and then.” He looked round at his group with a satisfied smirk on his face. 

Merry was trying desperately to stop Pippin from joining in the conversation and telling the group the truth. But Pippin naturally objected to his arm being twisted in what felt like a vice, and let out a loud squawk of displeasure which was heard by the entire room.

“What have we here?” Black-hair turned to the source of the noise and realised there were hobbits in the room. “Landlord, don’t tell us you serve these creatures?”

“I serve anyone who can pay,” said Butterbur, “so long as they’re sober enough to behave well. Which you lot are almost beyond, if you take my meaning.” He wiped spilled beer from the bar top, studiously avoiding Black-hair’s eyes.

“And you’re telling us hobbits can pay their way? Hey, Cobb, hear that? These ugly little fur-feet have money, just like big folk. Where d’you suppose they got it, eh? Maybe they melted down that ring, after all.”

“Prob’ly got it somehow or other from decent folk, Jed,” said Cobb. 

“Now, lads, enough of that.” Butterbur had decided to stand up for himself and his usual customers. “Mr. Took and Mr. Brandybuck are well respected in these parts. Come from distinguished hobbit families, they do. And their money’s as good as yours. For that matter, they went adventuring with Mr. Baggins, and no doubt know more than you about the ring and the cracks of doom.”

“Is that so?” Jed’s eyes narrowed and he glared first at the landlord then at the hobbits who were both wishing they had magic rings or anything else that might rescue them from this situation. The men they knew well were at the other side of the room and besides, were acquaintances rather than friends. They were unlikely to help.

“Know Nine-fingered Frodo, do you?” Jed asked, addressing himself directly to Merry and Pippin. “Heroes, are you? I don’t know the whole story but I do know you’ve cost us our jobs.” He spat in their direction, an arc of spittle that landed on their table, just missing Pippin’s beer.

“They’re supposed to have saved the world, though,” said Cobb. 

“Pah! Look at them! Couldn’t save themselves,” said another of the men. “Prob'ly couldn’t save the fur on their feet.”

“Show us yer feet, heroes,” said Jed. “Show us yer dirty fur-feet, then.” And his friends laughed, not nicely, but dangerously, on the edge between being happy-drunk and aggressively drunk. They joined in with a chorus of taunts among which the hobbits could make out words like ‘ugly’, ‘stupid’ and ‘little’. 

By this time, Pippin was furious, and yanked his arm away from Merry’s restraining grasp. He stomped out into the centre of the room, his furry feet making quite a din on the floorboards, and stood there, fearless and angry, hands on hips, and eyes flashing. Merry was torn between admiration and despair. The men were pointing at Pippin’s feet and laughing.

“Look at that!” said Cobb. “Showing us his feet, he is. Maybe he wants to dance for us.” He started a slow clap and the others took it up, creating a rhythm that reminded Merry of the marching of Orcs. He cringed. Pippin was brave, but no match for the huge men around him. The teasing could turn to physical abuse in a second, and he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do. He sent a pleading look at the landlord, but although Butterbur’s face showed sympathy he evidently didn’t want to throw out such a large group of drinkers unless and until anything serious happened. Merry thought things were already serious, though Pippin, shaking with indignation, didn’t seem worried, even when Jed took his hands and tried to lead him into a parody of a dance.

Then one of the regulars came to the rescue. He was a tall, elderly man called Olin, and Merry thought he might once have been a teacher or something like that. He was eloquent, and he had an innate sense of fairness.

“Landlord, your guests are being abused,” he said, in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried to every corner of the room. Definitely a teacher, Merry thought in one corner of his mind, even as he listened with gratitude to what Olin was saying.

“Guests? These furry little things?” Jed had stopped dancing to answer but still held Pippin’s small hands in his meaty ones. “Pets, more like, kept for entertainment, I’ll be bound.”

“Or pests,” said Cobb, sniggering. “We could rid you of them for a fee.”

“Guests,” said Olin, firmly. “Regular customers like ourselves, and well liked. There’d be a great deal of upset here if anything were to happen to them.”

“Cobb, I think he’s threatening us,” said Jed. “D’you think he’s threatening us?”

Before Cobb could reply the rest of the group of regulars rose from their seats. There were quite a few of them - more, in number, than the group of tree-fellers. They stood silently, shoulder to shoulder, behind Olin, and their faces were frowning with dislike.

“I think...” said Cobb, but Butterbur interrupted, his courage returning with the stand of his regular customers.

“...that you’ve had too much to drink and have broken the rules of hospitality. I won’t be serving you any more, so you’d best be on your way.”

There was some shuffling and some muttering but as most of the strangers had empty mugs it was all for show. They left, grudgingly but quite definitely, and the sound of their horses’ hooves faded into the night. Merry heaved a sigh of relief and rushed to massage Pippin’s hands; the younger hobbit had been gripped so hard by Jed that his fingers were limp and his wrists showed marks that could have been made by ropes or chains instead of by a man’s fists. Butterbur uttered some kind of apology, which Merry accepted; it was easier not to argue, though he felt the man could have stopped things earlier. He looked at Olin and started to thank him but the tall man brushed his thanks aside.

“Anyone would have done the same,” he said. “Anyone decent. And those folk weren’t decent. Not what we like around here at all. My friends here,” he added, waving his hand to encompass the other regulars, “would all have stepped in. It’s just that I was the first.”

Merry thought perhaps Olin was being too modest and also that perhaps Butterbur might just think himself classed among those who were not decent, but he said nothing, and returned to ministering to Pippin. Pippin added his thanks to Merry’s.

“And to all of you,” he said, “for you all stood for us at the end.” 

There was a murmur at that, and the men sat down again, some asking whether Pippin was all right and some asking Butterbur where the fresh pitchers of beer were. The talk became friendly and pleasant, and if Merry and Pippin were less inclined to conversation than usual, that wasn’t perhaps surprising. 

At last Butterbur started to wipe down the bar and put a cloth over the beer tap to signify the end of the evening’s drinking. The men finished what was in their mugs and one by one left the inn. Olin was last, and he stopped to talk to the hobbits for a moment. 

“There are fools out there,” he said. “Fools who don’t know the truth of things, and don’t much care. I’m sorry you had to listen to that and I hope there’s no harm done.”

Pippin held up his hands, waggling his fingers to show that they were back to normal, and Merry smiled. 

“As you can see, we’re undamaged,” he said, looking from Olin to Pippin. Then he rose and bowed, a courtly bow he’d been taught in Minas Tirith, and Olin bowed back, a rustic bow but graceful nonetheless. Then the man went to the door and out into the night.

“I don’t know about you,” said Merry, “but I don’t think I could ride back to The Shire tonight, even though I’m not drunk. Not anywhere near.”

“I’d rather stay here,” said Pippin. “My hands still hurt a little and my pony needs a light touch on the rein. But I’m not drunk, either, and I did hope, when we set out, that I would be.” Merry grinned. He had hoped, too.

~~~~~ 

They told Butterbur they would take the rooms he’d promised to prepare. Merry didn’t feel any hostility towards the innkeeper; the man had a business to run, and was not brave at the best of times. But he did feel less than totally friendly and hoped they wouldn’t have to engage in conversation. Fortunately, the landlord took them straight to their room, a low-ceilinged apartment with a comfortable round door and windows, just made for hobbits. He brought their packs from the stables and Merry felt a sense of relief knowing his sword was near.

“There’ll be breakfast in the bar in the morning,” Butterbur said, and then added, “without charge, to make up for what you suffered in there tonight.” 

Merry’s opinion of him rose slightly though it was still quite low. However, he bade him goodnight civilly and then barred the door and turned to Pippin.

“I think this is the first time I’ve stayed here sober. Apart from that very first time, of course, when we met Strider.”

“Yes,” said Pippin, “and I was remembering how he told us then that some people might look fair and speak or act foul. He was right.” 

“I don’t think they looked very fair.” Merry considered the group, brawny and a little dishevelled, most with sneering faces. 

“No, but...” Pippin sniffed, and it occurred to Merry that the sniff was half way to a sob and that Pippin was now showing the distress that he had kept at bay in the presence of all those men.

“Pippin.” His arms were around Pippin in an instant, and then a curly head was butting into his shoulder, while a small voice snuffled a broken question.

“Merry, are we really...? Do you think we...? They said we were ugly...”

“Why take any notice of what they think? Did you think they were beautiful? I certainly didn’t. But I dare say they seem handsome enough to each other, you know. To another hobbit, now, you, Pippin, are very comely.” He blushed as he spoke; he had admired Pippin for a long time but had never said anything about his thoughts.

“You think I’m...” Pippin stopped sobbing long enough to consider the matter then spoke in a wondering tone. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, you really think I’m - what was it - comely?”

“Very comely.” Merry was emphatic. “Beautiful.”

“Even...” Pippin hesitated. “Even my feet?” he asked in a whisper.

“Especially your feet,” said Merry firmly, looking at the appendages in question and enjoying the way the curls of fur emphasised the long narrow toes.

“And I’m not too small?” Pippin sounded anxious and Merry was careful not to laugh.

“You’re just about the right size for me,” he said, and held Pippin tighter. They stood together silently for a while and then Pippin gave a little sigh and drew away. 

“Merry,” he said, “would you think I was stupid and cowardly if I asked to share your bed tonight? I think I’d like to be held. I think it might help me to sleep.”

“Pippin, you’re one of the bravest hobbits I know,” said Merry, and his voice carried his sincerity to Pippin. “You stood up to those bullies, even though you knew you might lose in the end.”

“I just, well, couldn’t let them say things like that. Especially about you. You’re brave and beautiful too, Merry.” 

Merry could hardly believe his ears. Pippin thought the same things about him; he hoped it was true and not just his imagination running riot after their fright. They undressed slowly and without further comment both got into one bed, holding each other close, to keep away nightmares and waking dreams of monstrous men and wicked words.

Which was when Merry realised that he couldn’t pretend to be simply a friend whose arms could hold off the dark. His body was betraying his desires in an all too physical way, and a small bed gave no place to hide. 

Then he realised that Pippin was in the same state, and things got very interesting indeed. In fact, they were able to forget about the inn, the men, the insults, and everything but each other for quite some time.

Later, much later, they drew deep breaths and talked. They talked about how they had both held back from expressing their wishes out of some stupid reticence. 

“For it was stupid, Merry,” said Pippin. “I think I just got somehow turned into the kind of apple Hobbiton wanted me to be.” Merry remembered their conversation on the way, earlier, and smiled.

Then he remembered other things they had said. “We’ve loved these adventures,” he said, “up until tonight. But what now? I’m not sure, Pippin, that I want to come to Bree again. Even though there are people like Olin, he might not always be around. We’re very small, and even if we carried our swords we’d do badly against Jed and his crew.”

“Rivendell, then,” said Pippin. “I can’t do without our expeditions, Merry. We shall just have to travel further.”

“And camp overnight?” Merry sounded doubtful but Pippin laughed. 

“Yes, and perhaps take an extra large bedroll with room for two.”

“If anyone sees us setting out...”

“...they’ll just think we’re strange and they already think that, Merry.”

“And we can be ourselves and behave as badly as we like.” 

“This isn’t bad behaviour,” said Pippin, quite sure that he was right. 

“No, it isn’t,” Merry agreed. “And besides, nobody will ever know or be able to say otherwise.”

“I shall regret coming here last night,” said Pippin slowly, “ and thinking we could drink in the inn without fear, but I could never regret how we ended up together.”

They were quiet for a moment, contemplating the future, a future that would include visits to elves, nights spent together in the confines of a bedroll and best of all, time spent outside The Shire which was in some ways too small for them now, but which would still, Merry thought, always be home. He kissed Pippin gently, and nestled very close, holding his beautiful brave beloved near to him, watching over him until he slept, and then letting himself fall asleep too, safe in a pair of enfolding arms. 

End


End file.
